


It Hurts

by Highlightlover4693



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 16:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14264904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highlightlover4693/pseuds/Highlightlover4693
Summary: After yesterday's events, don't think this needs an explanation





	It Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, loves. Sorry for bothering with an angsty shot, but I really couldn't hold back. I actually can't express how, sad, concerned and disappointed I am after what happened yesterday. I wished we never had to write these kind of fics again but well... 
> 
> Thanks to anyone who stopped by. Really appreciate your attention.

**_Termas de Río Hondo, Argentina_ **

**_8th April, 2018_ **

 

"Hey, you okay?" Alex's voice sounds distant, as if he was meters and meters away. His brain is still muddled. But he manages to hear it, without knowing how. 

He settles for a short nod, hopes is evident enough that he's lying, but he's just incapable of talking right now. 

He looks back at the television of Honda's portable office. The words still echoing on the walls of his head. His bitter expression burning on his eyelids if he closes his eyes.

Marc's eyes sting.

He's pretty sure they are starting to turn a pale shade of red. They are holding back what his chest is so desperate to release.

His head hurts.

His throat, as well, its sudden closeness suffocates him. He's not sure the words are going to get out like they are supposed to. Definitely not. Still, that's one of the things that worry him the least, right now.

Every single word heard feels like knife. Every thought expresed through that voice tests his emotional self control to even further, impossible limits. That voice he's always been so fond of. It makes everything ten times more painful.

He's flooded with a sickening sensation of deja vu he has been trying so hard to bury deep down and forget. But no, today it resurfaces with might, destabilizing his mind more than it already is.

But this afternoon it's even worse. Because this time, the italian has a real reason to point out those words. He's an excuse to attack him. His words can't no longer be marked as delusions, because today, he's in fact chained one mistake after another.

He would almost sell his soul to erase that day from existance. If only that could be possible, if only he could wake up now on his bed, feel the relief of the lack of reality a nightmare has. What he wouldn't do...

Marc fists the dark fabric of his Honda sweater, his brain constantly replaying the hurtful sentences, sending his mind into a torturing loop he's sure he won't be able to scape from in weeks.

   


> _I'm afraid when he's on track. He's destroying the sport._

He blinks. Repeatedly. Cause he's surprised at how overwhelming the urge to lay down and cry like a kid is turning out to be. He had never felt that way before, not even when he was way younger.

But, for sure, everything has scarily gotten out of hand today.

 _Sorry_.

He wants to yell the words desperately at anyone willing to listen. But that's the problem. Who he wants to apologize the most is probably the last person that wants to hear him right now. It has already been stated when Uccio's angry face has been the closer he could get to him.

His guts revolve when he hears Emilio approaching. He barely feels the weight of his manager's hand on his shoulder, signaling that he would be interviewed in about half an hour.

 _Great_. Exactly what he needs.

"Hey" the middle-aged man eyes him with compassion, as if he could get a little glimpse of how he's feeling "I know it's probably the last thing you feel like doing right now, but..."

He simply nods, eyes still fixed on his sneakers. It needs to be done. As simple as that. 

"And try not to look that affected, will you? Valentino already knows how much power he can have over you. Don't feed it even more. Ignore him"

_I wish I could. I really wish I could._

But he doubts the impact of the self-blame will stop anytime soon. He mentally checks what he has been adviced to say to the press, in the useless attempt of filling his mind with something else. Not that it would matter what he has to report now, anyway.

Everyone saw what happened, after all.

He tries to take a deep breath, in order to easy the raging anxiety a little bit, asking himself what has he done for this day to be deserved. And how the hell is he supposed to get over it. He didn't thought there could be a worse feeling than those he has experimented after Sepang. But today he's been proved wrong. Again.

It makes him aware of how much he still has to learn. It makes him realize how utterly ignorant and immature he still is in some aspects.

But the most digging, hurtful sensation of all is how bad he actually feels. Because it really seems over, now.

_Completely over._

   


> _I don't want him to look me in the face. He has to keep himself away from me._

Before he knows it, a rebellious, silent, salty tear makes his way down his sharp cheekbone. He wipes it away before it's noticed.

His jaw aches. He's been tightening it too much today. And doesn't think it would stop anytime soon.

He wants to talk to him. More than anything.

 _Alone_. Just the two of them. He's pretty sure it's the only thing that would calm him down and disentangle the represive knot that it's enabling him from breathing properly. If only he wasn't more than sure that he would be rejected once again.

_I want him away from me. I don't want him to look at me in the face ever again._

Valentino's message keeps on haunting him until it's too much. Without a word and under Emilio and Alex's concerned gazes, he quickly slids towards the closest toilets, hastily locking himself up in one of the stalls. He presses his palms against tha walls and waits. The tears take longer to appear than he had expected, but, strangely, when they do, he almost doesn't notice.

Maybe there's really something wrong with him. Maybe he's not as in control as he thought he was. Maybe this time this is really the end. Cause this time, he really can't see it getting any better. He sees no way out.

A silent sob breaks through his lungs, making him feel helplessly pathetic, like that skinny short boy with a dream that he was not so long ago.

How the heck could everything had gotten this bad? How has their amazing connection turned into this irreconcilable mess? When...?

_Why...?_

He supposes those questions will never get an answer. Not anymore.

Once he's ridden out of a little amount of pressure, he dries his wet cheeks with the soft fabric of his sweater. Maybe he's broken inside, but showing it off isn't for sure a good idea. It's something he would rather keep for himself.

 _Maybe we were never meant to be_. _Maybe it was just a cruel joke of fate, a glimpse of perfection we'll never be able to have, to reach._

What still hurts him the most, though, is finally understanding that this time there's no way back and he's absolutely positive that nothing, neither no one will be able to heal, let alone replace the deep wounds his feelings for the italian have carved on his insides. The chances for the conflict to be solved have disappeared for good. And he almost can't stand what it truly means.

It means that he will no longer be able to enjoy that magical atmosphere that used to surround him when their glances found one another. It means that he will no longer be able to get a close look of those eyes. It means that not a single one of his smiles will be directed at him ever again. It means that he will no longer have the right to touch that skin that has always been electrifying against his. It means he will no longer be someone for Vale, even though the italian will always be an inherent part of him.

And _it hurts_. To the core.

After a fair amount of time that definitely felt shorter, Marc, almost automatically and without thinking, turns the doorknob, only to make eye contact with himself in the mirror. He already looks awful; his dark eyes are red rimmed, skin below them starting to get darker, but he's sure he'll definitely look worse tomorrow. He's already counting with the fact that he won't get much sleep tonight.

His limbs feel like lead and every organ he can think of is sore. But, as cliche as it might sound, his heart is for sure the only one that, as the current situation, won't ever recover from the damage.

He nearly has to hold back a bitter laugh that would have been everything but humorous.

 _Funny_ , he had thought it was bad three years ago at Malaysia, if only he had known back then that he wouldn't have a proper taste of how heartbreak really feels like until today.


End file.
